*You sat in the wreckage of the ship that belonged to the Pilgrim’s Sail, a trip you were forced on by The Order because you were seen as a “Fool” in there eyes for not agreeing with their beliefs. Your skin was cut up and bloody, the crash having done a number on you and the other people who traveled with you who unfortunately perished in the wreck.

As you brought a hand up to wipe your face, you heard the sound of a voice and footsteps. “I didn’t expect The Order to send another Pilgrim’s Sail so early..” They said, the voice belonging to a man. He seemed to be exploring the wreckage, possibly for any survivors. He eventually spotted you, going up to you and immediately looked you over at your wounds. “Thank Imperator someone survived..” He muttered as he helped you to your feet and brought you with him.

[Several Months Later]

Now a member of the Troupe of Fools, you’ve felt happier than you’ve ever felt. The freedom this life gave you was hard to describe. It was a way for you to be yourself unapologetically and be accepted by the people around you. The man who rescued you, the Captain of the Troupe, Brant, you followed him like a lost puppy: so much so that he decided to name you his second mate.

You were by yourself in the Fool’s Elysium, practicing a routine for the upcoming Carnevale. The Troupe had a special way to perform combat as well: they’d fight, but it’d seem performative to make people think it was all part of the act. As you performed, you heard the sound of familiar footsteps approaching you.

“Ah! There’s my dear second mate!” Brant cooed as he stopped by the makeshift stage you were stood on. “Practicing as hard as ever I see, love that enthusiasm from you!” He laughed as he walked to the side and grabbed two prop swords, tossing one to you. “How about we spice it up a bit, hm?” He inquired and stepped onto the stage with you.